No Small Miracle
by Windborn
Summary: The conflict at the Gallows leaves Nathaniel badly wounded and fighting for his life. Frantic and helpless, Elissa can only pray the Maker isn't ready for him, because the only healer powerful enough to save him is a wanted man. Anders would be a fool to come out of hiding, but however close they may have been in Amaranthine, Elissa will kill him if Nathaniel dies...


**No Small Miracle**

A brilliant, blood-red flash threw the interior of a tiny shack high above Kirkwall into shadow. The percussion of the explosion followed hard on its heels, rattling the poorly-set windows before the building's occupants could do more than look up.

Usually placid, their mabari sprang to his feet, barking wildly.

"Ghost, settle." Elissa abandoned the letter she'd been writing, illegibly smudged in her surprise, and joined Nathaniel by the door. "What-" The question died on her lips. Fire and smoke billowed up from the city. "Oh, Maker . . ."

"Looks like the Chantry." Nathaniel reached for the heartwood bow propped just inside the door.

Elissa caught his wrist. "Can we not meddle? Just this once?" _We_, she said, meaning _you_, because she didn't dare, and a growing, terrible suspicion of what the destroyed chantry _meant_ made her want to, very badly.

"You do remember who's down there."

Sighing, she released him. "If I could-"

He cupped her check, callused fingers gentle on her skin, and lightly kissed her forehead. "I learned meddling from the best." He turned away, slung his quiver over his shoulder. "Stay here. Your research is too important to risk."

"Ghost-"

"Should stay with you. He'll be happier, and can keep watch when you're so absorbed in your work you can't hear." His tone was light, unconcerned, as though he left for nothing more dangerous than hunting dinner.

"As if I'll be able to focus, knowing you're down in that mess. Nathaniel-"

He kissed her silent, hands in her pale hair, calm at first, then more urgent, running down her back and drawing her close. When he finally pulled away, she was too breathless to protest further.

A fine commander, she was.

"Just be careful," she managed at last.

"Always." Nathaniel briefly scratched Ghost behind the ears. "Keep an eye on Elissa for me."

The mabari barked once in agreement, his stubby tail whisking the cobbled floor. He would obey Nathaniel willingly enough, but Elissa's commands always took precedence-unless he'd been asked to protect her. Countermanding _that_ order was tricky.

Nathaniel headed down toward the city at a ground-devouring lope, disappearing like a shadow amid the trees.

A long, deep breath eased some of the tension building in Elissa's neck and shoulders. Nothing she could do now but wait. Maybe further research was impossible-Nathaniel was the best Warden she knew, and one of the best fighters, but he held her heart; of course she would worry-but at least she could rewrite that smudged letter.

Satisfied she wasn't going anywhere, Ghost lay down in the middle of the room, staring out the door Elissa hadn't closed.

#

Frantic knocking and Ghost's single, demanding bark roused Elissa from a word she'd been staring at so long it had lost any meaning. When the voice followed, she realized she'd already heard it.

"Serrah Warden!"

Her head snapped up. In the doorway stood a youth in Grey Warden armor, his hand fisted against the doorframe, eyes flickering between Elissa and the large, angry hound barring his way. "Ghost, enough. Let him in."

Though Ghost subsided, the man remained at the door. "Pardon the interruption, serrah, but I've a message from Warden Stroud." He seemed torn between politeness and urgency.

Her heart stuttered with nebulous worry. Stroud? What could he want? "What's the message?"

"He says you need to come to the Compound. At once. There was fighting at the Gallows-I didn't wait for details-but the Templars brought an injured Warden. Stroud said-"

Elissa didn't wait for him to finish. She bolted to her feet, snatched her sword belt-sword, daggers, and all-from its peg, and was heading out the door before he realized she was no longer listening. Ghost raced ahead of her, and she focused on his hindquarters to maintain direction. Her world narrowed to her pounding heart and her feet on the blurred path beneath them.

_Maker, let him be all right. Damn it, Nathaniel! Will we never learn?_

Shouts behind her chipped at her panic, broke through, slowed her headlong decent toward the smoking city.

"Warden! Warden, slow down-you'll break your neck!"

Rock and roots littered the ground as if out of nowhere. She stumbled, caught herself, and skidded to a stop even as he careened past and slid into a gnarled tree.

"Ouch!" Shaking stinging hands, he spun to face her. "Andraste's ass, woman! What are you doing? You'll be no good to anyone if you get _yourself_ killed." Confusion and anger made him look older, stopped the retort on Elissa's tongue.

Ghost craned his head to see why she no longer followed. His bark echoed off the hillside.

Thoughts ground against one another; they needed to hurry. Why weren't they moving? Would her legs even hold her when she started again?

More gently, the young Warden asked, "He's one of yours, serrah?" He didn't mean Ghost. He spoke with too much sympathy.

"I'm his commander," she whispered. _Lover. Beloved. Maker, if he-_

"Serrah?" He hadn't heard her.

What was she doing? "I-" This was no way for Ferelden's former Warden Commander to behave! She closed her eyes and took a breath, then another. Nathaniel was her rock, her anchor. Finding a calm space wasn't easy. Her trembling didn't stop, but it eased, and her frantic heartbeats slowed enough to let her think. _Get there. Then you can fall apart if you need to._

"I'm his commander. Anything else is irrelevant." The lie came easily after all these years, the Cousland and the Howe, uncertain Ferelden would leave them in peace if anyone knew. Never mind that her behavior said otherwise.

"O-of course, serrah," he said, while a skeptical lift of an eyebrow countered, _if you say so._

Ghost barked again, urging haste.

Elissa could feel her feet, now, but the fear coiled around her heart made her steps leaden. Like walking into Denerim to face the Archdemon. But this-she went into Fort Drakon with victory the only acceptable outcome, trusting Morrigan's spell to keep her and Alistair alive. Here, now, she had no control, no power, only desperate hope and prayer that whatever happened, the Maker wasn't ready to take Nathaniel from her.

She forced her legs to obey and put her heart's concerns aside. "Come on. We should hurry."

"Just so long as we both get to the Compound in once piece."

#

The usually-bustling streets of Kirkwall stood empty, the only nearby sounds the Wardens' booted footfalls echoing up the walls and Ghost's claws clicking on stone. Shouts drifted from the direction of Hightown, muffled by distance and architecture. The flickering glow of flames burnished the tops of buildings, and the reek of char and flesh and magic clung to the salt-sea air.

Elissa didn't ask where everyone was. The curious and compassionate would have made their way to Hightown, the Docks, and possibly even the Gallows itself, if no one actively barred the harbor. The cautious would be ensconced in their homes, waiting for news or pretending nothing happened. Traffic in the streets would be sparse for some time.

Her thoughts wandered briefly from her worry for Nathaniel. _Anders, what in the Maker's Name did you do?_ She never questioned her certainty of the mage's involvement. Chantry a pillar of fire, mages rising up against Templars-and Anders was in Kirkwall. His involvement was inevitable, even if he wasn't directly responsible. Even if she didn't want to believe the cheerful, cheeky, compassionate young man she'd conscripted had changed so very much.

She'd been to Kirkwall's Grey Warden Compound before, and needed no directions from her escort. He made no more complaints about her pace, aside from the occasional grumble questioning how she moved so damn fast on such short legs.

Nearer the Compound, they passed a few people milling about, gossiping in hushed voices, quickly taking themselves out of the path of the huge mabari and grim-faced Wardens. No one stopped them for news, and no one offered any. Grey Wardens were not to be trifled with.

Around one final corner, the streets were suddenly bursting with activity. Wardens hustled about, some heading deeper into the city with buckets, rope, axes, hammers, some returning, soot-streaked and worn. Whatever their usual reservations about interfering in non-Warden affairs, they had set them aside for the moment, it seemed.

A single, broad figure stood still amid the bustle, calling orders, answering those who approached with a few concise words and a clap on the back or shoulder. Stolid and calm, Stroud radiated an aura of order, and Elissa made straight for him, like a drowning woman seeking a rock in a raging river.

She was halfway to the Compound gate when he spotted her, and he left his post at once to intercept her.

"Lady Elissa, you made good time. I've been-"

"Where is he?"

Stroud's thick moustache twitched, masking his initial reaction, but a deep frown quickly furrowed his brow. "A moment." He caught her arm as she started past him. "You should-"

She yanked free and rounded on him. "_Where_, Stroud? Where is Nathaniel?"

Surprise, then understanding snapped across his careworn face. Though she and Nathaniel kept their relationship private, always, and their public interaction strictly professional, Stroud was no fool. Whatever they had let him see on their last visit, he recognized the truth, now.

Elissa did not care-hells, let the whole of Thedas know, and damn the consequences! Only let Nathaniel be _safe_.

"Of course, my lady." With a sharp nod, he dismissed his messenger. "Rourke, help the others. I'll see to her from here." She let him take her elbow and guide her toward the front gate. "I should warn you. His condition is very poor."

Elissa had never heard him so hesitant. It thickened his heavy Orlesian accent and forced her to strain to catch all the words.

He watched her carefully, as though weighing every word against the possibility she might fall apart. "Our healers aren't certain how he's lasted this long. Some mage or another has been pouring magic into him ever since the Templars brought him from the Gallows, and probably before."

She didn't sob, or scream, but she could barely speak for the pressure building in her chest. "The Templars did?"

"Yes. The city is in chaos. The Kirkwall Guard and remnants of the Order are trying to keep the peace, but it's a damned mess."

_I don't care about your city._ "What happened?"

Stroud pushed open the Compound door and held it ajar for her, while Ghost moved to one side to wait, silent and watchful, for her to return. "We're still putting together the pieces. What we know-an apostate blew up the Chantry, killed Grand Cleric Elthina and Andraste only knows how many others. The Knight-Commander called for the Rite of Annulment."

That got her attention. "Over an _apostate_?"

"So I was told." He rubbed the side of his neck, suddenly on edge. "A friend of Kirkwall's Champion. If that is true, responsibility for this mess is partly mine." He led her into a central courtyard ringed with trees, empty of people, but full of targets and pells and racks under oiled canvas that looked like they probably held practice weapons. Rather than following the walk bordering the buildings, he cut directly across.

"How so?"

"He-you would know him, Lady Elissa. He was a Warden of Ferelden, and there's a price on his head. One I have ignored, as a favor to the Champion, and because she seemed to be doing a fine job keeping him in check."

She waved away his claim to guilt. "Then Nathaniel and I are as much to blame. We've kept an eye on Anders for years, off and on. He was a dear friend." _And I would go back and kill him a hundred times over to prevent this._ Not for Kirkwall. Not for the mages and Templars. That disaster had been building for decades. It was selfish, but she couldn't help it. They'd been close, in Amaranthine. But for Nathaniel-_only_ for Nathaniel-she would trade Anders in a heartbeat. She pressed her fingers to her temples. "And the Gallows?"

"Less certain. First Enchanter Orsino is dead. Knight-Commander Meredith is . . . also dead."

Elissa frowned at the catch in his voice, but he did not explain.

"Knight-Captain Cullen commands the Templars, now, and we've heard no further talk of Anullment. A large number of mages have fled the city, but some remain, and seem to be working with the Templars to set things to rights." He stopped outside another door on the far side of the courtyard. "I think they stopped fighting one another when Meredith went mad. Our infirmary," he said, nodding to the door. "He's in a private room in the back, where it's quiet, and unlikely to be disturbed."

When he made no move to open the door, Elissa reached for the latch. As it swung open, he grasped her wrist.

"Elissa, wait."

The fear was back in force, choking. If she stopped, she might never move again. "Stroud . . ." she growled.

"I understand. But our healers can only do so much. You are fortunate to have made it in time, but you should brace yourself." His grip tightened. "When I sent for you, I didn't realize-"

"Would you have left me ignorant?"

Stroud's shoulders slumped, and he released her. "No."

She understood. He'd been prepared to inform a commander about the condition of a subordinate and friend. Not tell a woman her lover was dying. "Your concern is appreciated, Stroud." She inhaled deeply. "Lead on-" She broke off, swallowing a sob, and pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. _Not yet. It isn't over yet._

At the end of a long, smoothly paneled hall stood another door. This one, Stroud opened without a word and motioned for her to precede him.

An older woman in mage robes sat slumped in a chair in the far corner, exhaustion deepening the lines on her face, her complexion ashen. She raised her head when Elissa entered, and looked inquiringly at Stroud. Another mage sat on a stool beside the room's only bed. His outstretched hands glowed with power, and sweat beaded his brow. They both seemed near their limits.

Elissa crossed the room on silent feet to hover beside the bed, hands wringing, torn between wanting to touch, to comfort, and fear of doing more damage.

Nathaniel lay unmoving, almost as pale as the bedding, his dark hair a stark contrast, sweat-soaked from fever. Blood congealed at his left temple, below a crimson-stained bandage. More bandages angled across his torso, also in need of changing, and a splint held his left arm immobile. He still breathed, but the shallow rasp boded ill. Even unconscious, pain twisted his face.

"No," she whispered. "Oh, Maker, please no." She slumped to her knees, pressed her forehead against the side of the bed. "You can't leave me, too." Tears burned her cheeks, tracing the tattoos that streaked her face, symbols of the tears she'd refused to shed after Highever. Starfang's hilt dug into her ribs, and she clawed her sword belt free, letting it slide to the floor, useless in this fight.

A weight on her shoulder-she grasped Stroud's gauntleted hand, held it tight.

"His condition?" Stroud asked.

"No better," the woman answered, letting her colleague concentrate. "The bleeding has slowed, but won't stop, and his skull is worse than cracked, I fear. We can't . . . we can only hold him here so long."

A rough sob tore from Elissa's throat. She dragged herself upright to lean on the mattress and stared into Nathaniel's face. With a trembling hand, she caressed his cheek. _Why am I not a mage? Why can I not pull you back from this darkness, love?_

"Lady Elissa . . ."

The glow around the healer's hands faltered.

"No. No, no, no! He _can't_!" Archdemons and dragon and assassins and broodmothers, and she had survived everything, but _she would not survive this_. "I won't accept it!"

Long nights by the campfire, his arms around her, strong and secure, the sharp angles of his face aglow with firelight, his low, throaty chuckle against her neck as he kissed her-

They couldn't save him. They hadn't the power.

"Find Anders."

"Pardon?"

She spun to face Stroud, who stepped back in surprise. "Find Anders! He's probably the best damned healer in this Maker-forsaken city."

"Hawke-the Champion and her companions left the Gallows once Meredith was defeated. They'd be wise to have fled the city."

Elissa seized the edge of his breastplate and bore him back against the wall, his greater bulk no match for her desperation. He was too startled to resist. One of the healers murmured in protest, asking for quiet.

"I don't care if they've fled to the Anderfels. Find him! He will _save him_ or I'll string him up with his bowels as a necklace for the carrion crows to feast on!"

"Stroud-"

_"I will not accept this!"_

The healing glow reflected on the walls vanished. "Damn it, Stroud, get her out of here! We'll lose him faster if we can't concentrate."  
Tears set the room swimming. Didn't they understand, she _couldn't_ lose him? She scrubbed at her eyes, but they wouldn't clear. "Nathaniel . . . he can't . . ."

Stroud took her by the shoulders and drew her toward the door. She tried to pull free, but all her strength was gone. "Come, Elissa, do your shouting outside. You'll fetch her at once if his condition changes," he told the healers.

"Of course, serrah," the woman replied.

"Anything. Just take her elsewhere!"

She let him guide her to the courtyard, legs barely holding her. His grip didn't relent until the door clicked closed behind them. The cool air bit the burning tracks of tears down her face and neck. She slumped to the ground beside the door, hands fisted against the unyielding wall.

Stroud said something about telling the men to keep an eye out for Anders, sending word to the Guard and the Templars, and the likelihood of the rebel mage letting anyone approach him. Though Elissa heard his words, she could no longer make sense of them. He left her sitting on the dusty walkway, deaf and desperate and inexorably alone

Rage and grief rolled over her in waves, and she screamed.

She screamed at the wall, pounding her fists uselessly against it. At the Maker, for having the gall to try and take Nathaniel from her. She screamed at Nathaniel, for the sense of duty that would kill him, at Anders, for starting this damned conflict. For not being _here_, for saving himself while Nathaniel lay dying. She screamed at her own helplessness until her raw throat reduced her to muted whimpers.

How long she huddled in silence, shaking with sobs she could no longer voice, she wasn't certain. Ghost joined her at some point-she didn't see who let him into the courtyard-and he curled up beside her with his heavy head in her lap, alert for any intrusion.

The healers did not come for her.

Some time after the sun ducked behind the western hills, Ghost raised his head and _whuffed_ a quiet greeting.

A black suede boot stepped into view. When she lifted her head, there was a second.

"I heard you could use a hand."

Six years since last she'd heard that voice, and she knew it at once. She looked up. "They found you." Her voice crept out in a barely audible rasp, and she coughed.

Anders shook his head. "I didn't know anyone was looking until I got here. Stroud told me. Andraste's knickers, Liss. You look terrible." His own face was smudged with soot and dried blood, and weariness hung from him like a cloak. His feathered robes looked like they were molting. He spoke lightly, but there was no humor in his expression.

A brittle, unpleasant laugh broke from her, and he jumped. Ghost whined unhappily. "Six years," she said. "Six years, a city in shambles, Nathaniel clinging to life by threads, and _that's_ what you say to me?"

He flinched. "Elissa-"

She surged to her feet, seized the collar of his robes, and thrust him against the wall. "You selfish _bastard_."

Though his eyes flashed a startling blue, he did not fight her. He wrapped one hand around hers. "If you need to kill me, that's fine. Hawke wouldn't, and Maker knows I deserve it. But let me try and help Nathaniel first."

She shoved away from him, glad she'd left her sword and daggers inside, or she'd have used them. Fresh tears slipped from her eyes. _Justice._ She hadn't wanted to believe it, but she could feel it, sense the familiar presence seething beneath the mage's skin.

Her boys. Back in Amaranthine, they had been her brothers-in-arms, each almost from the moment they joined her. Almost. Nathaniel had taken some convincing, but had never since wavered. And now . . . She cradled her head in her hands. What had become of her people?

"Go. Save him, Anders. Please." She shivered. "I swear I'll kill you if you don't."

He laughed, almost sounding relieved. "Someone should. I wouldn't mind if it was you." He pulled her close and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "But I will do everything in my power to help him." Squeezing her hands, he disappeared through the infirmary door.

Elissa almost followed, but a whine from Ghost stopped her. She crouched in front of him and pressed her forehead against his. "I should go in," she told him, "in case he can't . . ." But she would fret and demand progress and be an intolerable distraction. Anders was one of the best healers she'd ever known, second only, maybe, to Wynne, and even he wouldn't appreciate her leaning over his shoulder, pestering him every few moments.

She did not let herself think long how Anders sounded like he sought death, and if he might, unconsciously, choose to fail.

No, Nathaniel was in the best possible care.

All she could do now was wait.

She wrapped her arms around Ghost's broad shoulders and buried her face in his neck. _Maker, please, don't take him from me. Let him stay. I can't lose anyone else. Give Anders the strength to save him, please. Please . . . Nathaniel . . . don't leave me . . . _

#

A heavy thump and sudden weight against her side roused Elissa from a fitful doze and dreams of the Vigil's dungeon back in Amaranthine. Nathaniel was locked in a cell she couldn't reach for the battered, twisted bodies spread several deep across the floor. Swallowing back bile at the vivid images, she sat up.

Anders shifted to allow her up before resting against her shoulder again.

"Anders?"

"Hmm." After a moment, he leaned away. "No good. You're too short."

She just stared, heart in her mouth, waiting.

He looked, if possible, even worse than when he'd arrived. His eyes were glassy, sunken with exhaustion, and his skin was grey, little better than Nathaniel's had been. But as he stared sidelong at her, a slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth, victorious and smug.

_Maker . . . he's alive. He'll live._

Anders caught her arm and pulled her back down beside him before she realized she was on her feet. "No, sit a while longer. He's asleep-really asleep, not just knocked silly-and it's best he stays that way for the moment. Besides, I'm beat. If you pass out, you'll just have to stay where you land."

"He'll really be okay?" Her voice broke.

"Well, he's not entirely out of the woods yet, but yes, I think so. But Elissa-" His voice turned suddenly somber, and fear knifed its way back into her heart. "'Okay' is relative. That head injury was bad. Very bad. That he survived at all is no minor miracle. Stubborn, that one, and tough as old gurn hide."

_I'm too weary for this._ "Meaning?"

Anders took her hand, laced his fingers between hers, like their old familiarity had never broken. "Meaning there's likely to be lasting damage. Not much, I hope, and nothing too dramatic. I mean, he still has feeling in his arms and feet. But you need to be prepared for the possibility."

_He's alive_, she wanted to say, _that's all that matters_. But she understood. At the very least, Nathaniel would be . . . difficult . . . if he suddenly thought himself a hindrance. Instead she asked, "How soon must you return to the Champion?"

"Hawke?" Anders ran a tired hand through his hair and tipped his head back to stare at the sky, where dawn was slowly spinning across the sky.

Had so much time passed since she'd come to the Compound? She couldn't account for half of it.

"You really think the Wardens will let me leave, now I'm practically in custody?"

That didn't sound like it had just occurred to him. Yet he'd come anyway. "Anders-"

"I saw him go down, Liss. Caught across the chest by a spear as thick as your leg, and tossed against a pillar like . . . like . . ." The metaphor failed him, and he trailed into silence. Then, more fiercely, "I couldn't _do_ anything! One quick spell. But Meredith had become this _thing_, and I couldn't get anywhere near him. And afterward, Hawke wanted us all out of sight quickly so no one felt obliged to lock us up. But what was I supposed to do? Let him die?"

She rubbed his arm with her free hand. "Does Hawke even know you're here?"

Chagrin twisted his mouth. "I left a note."

Rather a surprise the Champion hadn't come barging in to demand his release yet, in that case. "When you're ready, I will ensure they let you leave in peace."

"I know you're good, but there's only one of you."

She grinned. "I may no longer be Ferelden's Commander of the Grey, but the slayer of an Archdemon still commands some respect. At least when she isn't having hysterics. They'll listen."

"No execution, then?"

Her laughter died at once. She wanted to ask, to demand answers, about the Chantry, Justice, and how the man who had talked her into sparing blighted Amarantine City _just in case_ everyone hadn't caught the sickness yet, had reached a point where he could willfully kill hundreds of innocent people and endanger hundreds, if not thousands, more.

_I don't want to know. The less I know, the less I can second-guess._

"Not this time."

Once the sun had fully risen, Anders decided it was probably safe to let Elissa back inside, and a good time to check on Nathaniel before making himself scarce.

Elissa bade Ghost keep watch and only let friends through; he would bar anyone overtly malicious. As they made their way down the dim hall, she found herself shaking again. What if Anders had been wrong? What if he'd missed some crucial injury and Nathaniel had-

Anders pushed the door open and motioned her inside.

Tears sprang to her eyes as relief washed over her. Nathaniel's bandages had been changed, and all the blood and dirt cleaned away. His color was vastly improved, and as she drew nearer, she could see his chest rise and fall with deep, even breaths. Half-afraid the least sound would wake him and shatter some illusion of recovery, she padded softly to his side and simply watched him breathe.

Anders chuckled. "Still with that look. Good." He sat down on the vacant stool-the older healer sat dozing in her corner, but the other had left. A faint glow edged his hands as he assessed Nathaniel's condition. "Oh, go on. He won't break. Not now."

Though she wrinkled her nose at his teasing, she gently took Nathaniel's hand in both of her own. Her fingers traced the familiar calluses of bowstring and dagger, fine white scars from long-forgotten injuries, and one longer scar, along the back of his hand and up his forearm, from the first time they'd sparred after his conscription, when he still thought he might someday kill her. She rested her cheek against the backs of his fingers.

Anders said nothing until she looked up. Then he tapped the splint still on Nathanie's left arm. "Make sure he leaves this on for a few days. Couple weeks would be better, but there's no use expecting the impossible. The breaks are mended, but too much stress too soon could leave the bones weak. He expects to keep sticking darkspawn full of arrows, he'll need to be patient."

She ran her fingers along Nathaniel's brow, below the bandage, down over his cheekbones and smoothed his hair away from his face. "Patient. Certainly. Maybe he can occupy himself teaching Ghost to fly."

"Right." Anders snorted with laughter. "Let me know how that works out." The halos of energy around his hands brightened; he closed his eyes. "Once more, then he's all yours."

Faint filaments of light spun from his hands to trail the length of Nathaniel's broken arm, then swept, slowly, down the bandages crossing his chest, lingering below his right ribs. She had asked, once, if the light was the actual healing energy. He'd described it as more of an extension of his hands and eyes. At last, he took a deep breath and turned his attention to head wound.

The moment the ephemeral strands reach the injury, Nathaniel's hand twitched in hers, startling her. Anders's mouth quirked with amusement. His humor quickly faded, but no undue concern replaced it.

Trusting him to tell her anything she needed to know, Elissa returned to watching Nathaniel. Each breath straining the bandages brought a tiny jolt of pleasure. Whatever Anders was doing seemed to be prodding Nathaniel toward wakefulness, and she resisted the urge to sooth each fitful stirring.

No small miracle, Anders had said. And now, not only to survive, but to wake, and be whole . . .

The older healer roused and checked on them. Elissa thanked her for her help, asked her to pass her thanks along to her fellow healer.

She waved Elissa's gratitude away-no trouble for a fellow Warden in need-but said Elissa and Nathaniel were lucky, very lucky, to count such a remarkable healer among their friends. When she asked if they needed anything further, Elissa shook her head, but requested she send Stroud in, when he had a moment.

Once she was gone, Elissa pulled her chair over beside the bed to continue her silent vigil a bit more comfortably.

After what felt like en eternity, but couldn't have been more than an hour, Anders dismissed the aura and sat back, wiping sweat from his brow. His hair had long since come loose from its tail, and the wheaten tendrils hung around his face in an unruly mass. "Well," he said, lost it in a yawn, tried again. "Well. That's about the best I can do."

"You've done wonders, Anders. If you hadn't come when you did-"

He leaned across the bed to pat her cheek. "Don't dwell on it. I'll stay until he wakes, just to see . . . After that, you'll have to keep him out of trouble on your own."

Being a Warden meant trouble, and they both knew it. She would do her best; hopefully they could avoid further incidents of this magnitude.

Their wait was not a long one, though Nathaniel woke slowly. Anders stared at his face, calm, but intent, and Elissa held her breath at every shift and murmur.

Finally his eyes drifted open. He stared at nothing for a moment, blinked, blinked again, and a faint crease appeared between his brows.

Anders sat back, thoughtful.

Elissa moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and Nathaniel's steel-grey eyes shifted at once, closed a moment, opened. He smiled, but looked rather perplexed.

"Liss . . ." He tried to raise his head, but sank back at once. "Oh, Maker."

She gently kissed his brow. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

He was coming around quickly, and his lips quirked at the old joke from his Joining. "Mostly?" he finished for her.

"That's still a thing?" Anders asked, amused.

"Apparently," Nathaniel said. "What happened?"

"Oh, just an oversized spear from a lyrium-mad Templar-statue-golem-thing."

Nathaniel stared bemusedly.

Elissa could almost see the questions chasing behind his eyes. "Anders, coherently please?"

"Just seeing how much he remembers."

Nathaniel's eyes drifted shut again. "I remember you needed to be punched."

"Right. Coherent explanations. Let me see." Quickly, and with a surprising lack of embellishment, he related the events at the Gallows, from Hawke and her people arriving to reinforce the Circle mages, to Orsino's desperate mutation, to Meredith's final decent into red lyrium madness, even turning on her own Templars and bringing to life every statue in the Gallows as her ally. "And when the dust settled, Knight-Captain Cullen-I guess he's Knight-Commander now, poor bastard-he took Hawke aside and told her we should probably get ourselves out of there. I asked Varric-dwarf with the Merchants' Guild, you met him before, Nate. His contacts figured out pretty quickly where you were taken, and here we all are." He finished with a shrug, as though it had all been effortless.

They'd known red lyrium was dangerous; the paranoia and madness it induced was reason enough to fear it. But a substance that caused madness _and_ imparted immeasurable power? Elissa shuddered. _It needs scoured from the face of Thedas, and soon._

Nathaniel brushed a thumb across the back of her hand, comforting.

"Bit of a surprise you are still willing to show your face, mage," Stroud said from the doorway.

Elissa jumped, and Anders started as well. When had he come in?

"More surprising no one tried to remove it on your way here."

Anders didn't argue or quip. He leaned his elbows on the bed and laced his fingers beneath his chin. No defense, no protest. And he'd been willing to let her kill him.

Well, that would be just repayment for what he'd done. That he recognized it as reprehensible and did it anyway told her how necessary he believed his course. Was it really justice he thought he deserved? His death could certain be seen as such, yes, but-

It was also revenge for all those lost.

So many aspects, so similar to the men she'd known in Amaranthine. And yet so very different.

Nathaniel's eyes caught hers, flickered toward Anders, and closed abruptly, brow furrowing.

"Enough, Stroud," she said, smoothing Nathaniel's scowl. His skin was still warm against her fingers, still slightly feverish. "Anders has saved my Constable and my heart, and that's more debt than I can ever repay." She looked back. "The Knight-Captain let him leave the Gallows with Champion Hawke. You think Anders didn't know what he risked, coming here?"

"No more than he should expect, after today."

"He will return to Hawke unharmed."

"You cannot be serious. Even the Wardens have orders to kill him."

"Orders we've all conveniently ignored for years. Why stop now?" Never mind they had very good reason to. Never mind the dead and dying and destruction and whatever would come out of the conflict at the Gallows. _Mistakes can be corrected, wrongs righted-as long as we are alive. Death erases all such opportunities, and heals nothing._

"Lady Elissa-"

"No, Stroud. I gave my word. He goes back to Hawke. Tell your men they're to leave him alone-escort him out personally if you must. If he doesn't get there safely, I will hold you personally responsible."

While Stroud sputtered in disbelief, Anders finally spoke up.

"Now, that's not fair, Liss. It would hardly be his fault if I'm waylaid by bandits or something halfway to Hightown."

"Fine. You can take Ghost with you. Once you've arrived safely, send him back with a note."

Resting his hand conspicuously on the hilt of his sword, Stroud moved further into the room. "And Kirkwall gets no say in this?"

Elissa snorted and turned away. "No. At the very least, this city still owes the Champion for her years of protection, whatever her comrades may have done. And, it seems to me, the Champion needs him. Do not threaten me, Stroud. You won't like where it ends." Tension sang through her with the effort of not looking, of keeping her posture relaxed. _He must back down; we cannot fight here._ Her sword and daggers still lay beside the bed, in easy reach. Between her and Anders, the outcome was not in question, but one wrong move and Nathaniel could-

A deep sigh behind her eased her concerns. "Fine. Do as you like." Footsteps retreated from the room, and the door slammed closed.

Anders sat up and stared at the door. "Whew! He's not the best person to antagonize, you know."

"Neither am I."

Nathaniel's lips curled in a slow smile.

Could she kiss that grin away? How much risked doing damage? She wanted to hold him, to feel his arms around her, to reassure herself he was really still here.

"Don't laugh at me," she said, instead.

He opened one eye. "Wouldn't dream of it. I suspect it would hurt."

Chuckling, Anders patted his shoulder, then collected his staff from beside the bed and stood. He stretched, joints popping. "Ow."

"Making your escape, are you?" Elissa asked.

"I should. Before Stroud changes his mind or thinks of some way around your demands."

"Probably wise. I'll see you out." She bent and gently kissed Nathaniel's cheek, then rested her forehead against his.

Fingers slipped into her hair, trembling with effort. "No more secrets, then?"

"Hmm?"

"You told Stroud."

Elissa grinned. "In more than words, from the moment I got here." She pulled back, laced her fingers through his, and pressed his palm to her cheek. "And why not? Who's likely to object, after so many years? Fergus?"

"And if I asked-"

Anders coughed. "I am still here, you know. Save the sweet nothings for later. You will have later, if you take care. In the meantime-" He spoke over Nathaniel's growled curse. The bedframe creaked as he leaned on the mattress and swatted Nathaniel's foot. "Behave yourselves."

"Stop beating around the bush, Anders." Though Elissa meant to speak sternly, she couldn't make her expression obey, and had to stifle laughter.

"Summerday is in a few weeks. You should be able to 'celebrate' all you like by then. Just don't overdo it. Combat, sex, whatever-you'll be weak for a while, Nate. When your body says, 'enough,' _listen_ to it, or you might never fully recover." He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. "Nathaniel."

"I hear you."

"Stubborn fool-I'm not kidding."

"No, you're exhausting."

"Enough, you two." Patting Nathaniel's arm, Elissa rose to follow Anders, took him by the elbow and turned him toward the exit. "I'll give Ghost his marching orders and be right back."

A weary murmur of agreement answered her.

With a light shove, she started Anders down the hall and back outside. "Maker's Breath, Anders. If you don't want him to push himself, don't antagonize him." She rubbed Ghost's ears, reassuring him with her own calm that all was well. "Anders?"

He leaned heavily on his staff, hands white-knuckled around it, and stared at the dusty path with distant eyes. "Habit," he muttered.

"Not six years later. What is it?"

"He can't see, Liss."

The earth fell out from under her feet.

"Easy!" His staff clattered to the ground as he caught her under the arms.  
All the blinking, the way his eyes roved and never seemed to want to settle, and then closed, and stayed so, suddenly made sense. But . . . no. Nathaniel _had_ seen her, had met her eyes rather than just looking toward her face. "But . . . he . . . that's not possible."

"He isn't blind, no. But there is no question the blow to his head damaged his eyesight. Blurry vision, difficulty focusing." He released her, hovering close until she waved him off. "Obviously I can't tell you how badly without examining more thoroughly, which he's in no condition-or humor-for."

"Any inhibition could mean death in the Deep Roads."

Anders nodded. "He'll have to rely on his daggers, at least for a while. Assuming his balance isn't affected, which I wouldn't bet on."

Frustration clenched her jaw. Her eyes burned, and she squeezed them closed, trying not to imagine how Nathaniel would react when he realized. The buried impatience, the obstinate instance that _I'm fine, Liss,_ while refusing to let her seem him struggle.

She wouldn't allow him to fight through it alone. "Will it pass?"

"Possibly. If he takes care. Entirely? At a guess, judging from the extent of the damage-no." He looked around, picked up his staff. "At least, that's what I'd say was it anyone else lying in there. Nathaniel? Maker only knows. He shouldn't even be-" He broke off, shaking his head. "Anything is possible."

Turning his words over in her mind, she calmly instructed Ghost to escort Anders wherever he needed to go, and promptly return. One worry eased, trusting he would reach the Champion safely. _We are Grey Wardens. We'll do as we must._

Elissa lifted her head. The early afternoon sun shone through a haze, and the air still stank of smoke and, subtly, the petrichor-and-sawdust she associated with magic and the Fade. Somewhere in the courtyard, a bird fluttered about in a tree, and settled again without showing itself.

Wardens? She smiled, determined and grim. When had they done anything solely for the Wardens? Was their inherent tenacity not enough?

With a deep breath, she met Anders's eyes. "Well. It will mean a change of tactics, at the least. But we'll manage. We always do." She ignored the tremor in her voice and the lump in her throat. _Like in the Deep Roads-pretend you aren't afraid and the fear will ease._

He studied her face. "Somehow," he agreed, wonderingly. "Don't forget to take care of yourself in the meantime." He hesitated, then abandoned all propriety and hugged her fiercely. "Be well, Liss."

"And you. Tell your Champion she'd better keep you safe, or she'll have me to answer to."

That made him laugh. "A far cry from threatening to gut me when I got here. Well, Ghost, we'd best be off. Stroud could yet decide to challenge the Hero of Ferelden." He winked, turning to go.

"Anders, would you take one final order from your old commander?"

"That would depend on the order," he said, reluctantly.

"Fix it."

He looked back. "What?"

"You're a healer. Destruction and death . . . aren't like you. Or weren't, anyway. Justice-well." She should have tried harder to get him to come with them when they left Amaranthine. But he'd seemed so at ease there, as a Warden. "I failed you, and I'm sorry about that. It resolves nothing, but I am."

"Elissa, don't."

"But damned if I'm going to feel guilty over Kirkwall. You, though . . . I can't ask you to help the city. That would be a death sentence. But you've torn a hole that will ripple across Thedas. Maybe it needed to happen. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe you've finally lost your mind, I don't know." She grinned wryly as she said it, more frustrated than angry. He seemed to take no offense. "It's a wound. Heal it."

"That would rather defeat the whole point-"

A sharp headshake cut him off. "I don't care how it all ends, Anders. The Circles are fundamentally flawed-I can agree with that. It's the peace you've broken I want you to help restore. Protect the people around you from the chaos. Be they mage, Templar, Chantry, or ordinary folk-if they aren't supporting the conflict, help them avoid it. And help end it."

He stared at her in silence for so long she thought he would refuse. His nose wrinkled. "You always did have unreasonably high expectations."

"And yet they were never disappointed."

Snorting in amusement, he crossed his fist over his breast and bowed. "As you wish, Commander."

Elissa watched until he slipped through door on the far side of the courtyard. Part of her wanted to escort him to the front gate, but despite all Stroud's anger, she trusted him to keep his word. She'd already left Nathaniel too long alone.

When she opened the door, he looked up briefly, and as before, quickly squeezed his eyes shut again. She sat on the edge of the bed, caressed his brow. His fever seemed to have faded at last. "Dizzy?"

"Mmm."

"It will pass. Just rest."

He caught her hand, pressed her fingers to his lips. "I heard you yelling," he said.

"What?" Maker, he couldn't be hallucinating, too!

"Before Anders came. But I couldn't . . ." His grip tightened. "I'm sorry."

She kissed him, as fervently as she dared, drinking him in until the last shreds of terror in her heart were sloughed away by the feel of him beneath her hands. Whatever came next, he was alive, and he would heal. When she finally came up for air, she murmured in his ear, "Don't ever frighten me like that again."

"I'll do my best."

"Good. Now scoot over."

He blinked up at her, forced his eyes to focus. "What?"

"You heard me. Panicking is hard work. I'm worn out." Elissa ran her hand along the bandages crossing his torso, and his eyes drifted closed, a faint smile at the corners of his mouth.

"It's a very small bed."

"I don't mind if you don't. But if anything starts to hurt, tell me. I'll have Stroud's men bring in a bedroll."

Nathaniel's smile broadened, and he carefully shifted to make room on his right side.

Slipping in beside him, Elissa snuggled close, in the crook of his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. His hand settled on her hip. She wished for her nightdress, to feel the faint rasp of his callused fingers against her skin. A breath of laughter slipped passed her lips. No sex. His recovery would be long, for both of them.

She had almost drifted to sleep when he spoke.

"Elissa?"

"Hmm?"

"When the healers let me out of here-"

She abruptly raised herself on one elbow, startling him silent. "I swear to the Maker, Nathaniel, if you ask me to marry you while you're half-senseless and I'm half-asleep, you can share the bed with Ghost when he gets back."

His eyes brimmed with mischief and stubbornness, weighing the risk. "You don't look half-asleep."

She glared.

"Very well," he said at last. As she settled back against his shoulder, he added, "What's a few more months?"

That he did intend to ask warmed her all the way to her toes. After six years traversing Thedas together, often just the two of them, she was surprised it mattered. But it did. "There's time."

He kissed the top of her head. "There almost wasn't."

"So maybe we don't wait another six years."

Quiet laughter rumbled deep in his chest. "An excellent idea."

"And stay out of fights with mad Templars."

"Even better."

"Nathaniel?"  
"Yes?"

"Promise me you'll still be here when I wake up. If you leave, I'll have to follow, and-" Weariness set her emotions loose again, and they choked her.

His arm tightened around her. "Shh, Liss. I'm not going anywhere. You have my word." He had never broken his word, never gave it unless he could, unquestionably, keep it. For now, that was enough.

* * *

Note:

Regarding "Mostly."

It's a recurrent inside joke from my personal headcanon. After Nathaniel's Joining, when he comes to, Elissa says the whole phrase, "Welcome back to the land of the living. Mostly."

Anders then asks if it's, "Mostly welcome, or mostly living," due to the long-term consequences of the Joining.

Much to Nathaniel's annoyance, it sticks.


End file.
